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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25961365">Between the Shadow and the Soul</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/'>Anonymous</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, M/M, Marking, Masturbation, Mild Voyeurism, Phone Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sibling Incest, Spanking, Threesome - M/M/M, Whump</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 09:00:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,084</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25961365</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Maybe he's just frustrated,” Damen says, his voice lower than Auguste had ever heard it.  “You know.  Sexually.”</p><p>Auguste scoffs, but the sound comes out more like a gasp than anything.</p><p>“Damen,” Laurent chides, but the look he sends Damen isn't angry, not even a little. “You shouldn't say something like that unless you were offering to help fix it.”</p><p>Damen leans forward, pressing up against Laurent, his lips finding that tender spot behind Laurent's ear.  Laurent shudders beautifully under his touch.  Their eyes never leave Auguste.</p><p>“Maybe I am offering.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Auguste/Damen/Laurent (Captive Prince), Damen/Laurent (Captive Prince)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>100</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Anonymous</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Between the Shadow and the Soul</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This...kind of got away from me a bit.  I know there's probably someone out there who will enjoy this (there's dozens of us!) but I get it won't be a lot of people's cuppa.  Please see ending notes for more specific warnings with spoilers and mind the tags.</p><p>I'm not sure if this is totally done/ready but I have to let it go, it's making me crazy. I feel like I should apologize but it is what it is.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,<br/>in secret, between the shadow and the soul.”</p><p>-Pablo Neruda</p><p> </p><p>The first time it happens, Auguste thinks that maybe it's just a mistake.</p><p>He and Laurent live together, after all, and both of them have healthy sex lives (well, Auguste has a revolving cast of men and women who he takes home and fucks and then never talks to again, and Laurent has Damen) so it's not like either one of them hasn't seen and heard probably more than they had bargained for when they agreed to move in together after Laurent graduated from college.</p><p>Or, more precisely, when Laurent had graduated and informed Auguste that they were moving in together.</p><p>That was before Damen. If Auguste had known then that Laurent was going to meet and subsequently fall head over heels for one of the most gorgeous people Auguste had ever seen and that he would be bringing him over constantly, the noises of them fucking at all hours of the night keeping him up and restless and that he would have to see Damen shirtless in his kitchen more times than he could count, his washboard abs so defined Auguste wanted to see if he could count each one of them with his tongue, or watch as Laurent padded around in one of those oversized t-shirts that Damen had lying around everywhere, so large that the neck would slip off his shoulder, exposing perfectly smooth skin splattered with livid purple bite marks from Damen's mouth--</p><p>Well. They still would have moved in together; Auguste was helpless to say no to Laurent in this or anything else, and he was honest enough with himself to admit that. He just might have invested in some noise canceling headphones instead of that new TV. Or maybe some blinders.</p><p>But anyway. That first mistake. (Laurent doesn't make mistakes). They were at a party, and the unfair thing about it was that Laurent hadn't even wanted to go; Auguste had to convince Damen to go, who in turned had used his particular charms to convince Laurent. Auguste couldn't deny Laurent anything but Laurent had no problems not returning the favor, it seemed. But so Laurent attended the party like Auguste wanted and was sulking, a little, about having to be there at all while Auguste chatted with a few people that he knew. Lazar and Pallas already had their tongues down each other's throats by the time they got there, which really should have been his first warning. Jord introduced his pretty new boyfriend who scowled at everyone in a way that made Auguste's heart thump in a painfully familiar pattern (if only his hair was a little lighter, his eyes a little more blue, he'd be perfect), and Nikandros was off talking to a pretty brunette in the corner (if only he was a little taller, a little broader across the shoulders, he'd be perfect). If only, if only.  By the time Auguste reached his second beer of the night he realized that everyone had already coupled up, that it was going to be one of <em>those</em> kinds of parties, and that he had come up wanting.</p><p>The night was hazy and sticky and the air conditioning sputtered in a valiant attempt to combat all the fiery people inside, but it was a mostly futile effort and Auguste felt the weight of the air like he was drowning with every breath. Someone lit something that he thought was maybe incense, but most likely wasn't. Whatever it was it did nothing to cover up the smell of sex that permeated every corner of the house, seeping through the walls of each room, each floor, without any regard for boundaries. </p><p>Like Auguste knew anything about boundaries. </p><p>He wandered around the house, peeking into rooms, portals into the different areas of a soul. Here, a place where they rested. Here, a place where they had fun. A place where they ate. A place where they fucked.  A place where they pretended to be a normal family.  Everything contained in its own separate place, in a nice little box—except when it wasn't. These walls were imperfect, not entirely solid, they let secrets out despite everyone's best efforts--like at home, the way Laurent would call out Damen's name right before he came, a slight susurration of stuttered sounds that Auguste could never quite get out of his head, or the way Damen murmured sweet nothings into Laurent's ear when he would wake from a nightmare, or the way he could make him laugh in a way that Auguste had never heard before, a sound that pierced him straight through the heart.  And it's not like he was listening for it, or receptive to these secrets, these pieces of a life that wasn't his; he definitely didn't want to hear it, didn't want to stay like that in his own room with his ear pressed up against those walls made of paper, made of nothing. He didn't, he <em>doesn't</em>, he tells himself, and then tucks that little piece of denial in its own room, full to bursting with all of its other forgotten brothers.</p><p>Laurent and Damen had disappeared fairly early on and Auguste wonders what they'll be doing when he finally finds them. Maybe they were off playing a board game somewhere. It would be just like Laurent to be doing something like that at a party like this. But maybe they weren't; maybe they were caught up in it too, in the hedonistic aura of this place, and he—well, he wasn't quite honest enough with himself yet to admit that he was <em>hoping</em> that he might catch them. He might accidentally stumble on them, maybe, but he certainly wasn't looking forward to it. Wasn't looking forward to see how Damen would slip his hands under Laurent's shirt, running fingers over all of that pale, smooth skin, how Laurent would allow Damen to wander lower, maybe, and palm his hardening cock, aware that anyone could walk in at any time and not caring in that insolent way of his, maybe even hoping that someone would see them—maybe hoping that Auguste would see them—but then Auguste didn't want <em>that</em>, of course. Definitely did not want to have to witness <em>that</em>. </p><p>That room in his mind gets a little more crowded.</p><p>When he did finally find them they were making out on a dingy couch.  Auguste couldn't tell what kind of room this was; he vaguely wondered what a rumpus room was, and wondered if this was it. Probably not.  Laurent was much too sophisticated to make out with someone in a rumpus room regardless of whatever sort of sex party they had inadvertently found themselves at.</p><p>But then, maybe he had never known Laurent as well as he thought, or as well as he wanted.  Maybe that was the whole problem, why that room in his head was full to bursting right now.</p><p>Damen was sitting with his back towards the door, Laurent straddling him with his elegant thighs on either side of Damen's trim waist, hands looped possessively around Damen's neck. Damen did something with his hips that caused Laurent to throw his head back and gasp, just the tiniest little mewling sound that Auguste could barely hear over the thumping of the music that shook the walls and rattled under his skin. Damen took that opportunity to nip at Laurent's jaw, and then his neck, sucking at his skin in a way that Auguste knew would leave a mark, purple splotches of paint on a pristine canvas, and Auguste wondered if he sucked on Laurent's skin like that if it would be a different color or if he and Damen would leave the same kind of marks. It seemed impossible that they would, and yet impossible to think of anything else.</p><p>And then he looked up and his eyes met Laurent's. Laurent was watching him, his gaze frank and assessing, only slightly dazed by whatever Damen was doing to him. Without breaking their stare Laurent leaned forward and whispered something into Damen's ear, and whatever he said caused Damen to tighten his arms around him. Laurent's eyes fluttered but didn't close, never left Auguste's face.</p><p>Auguste felt his mouth go dry, and he licked his lips.</p><p>Laurent's eyes tracked the movement and a small, feral grin showed on his face. His tongue darted out, wetting his lips, and as he ground his hips down into Damen's lap his eyes never left Auguste.</p><p>Auguste turned, and fled.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>He told himself he wasn't disappointed when they didn't come home.</p><p>He told himself he hadn't wanted to hear them fuck, those sounds unmistakable through the thin walls, surrounding him, suffocating him, choking him.</p><p>He told himself this, but as he brought himself off all he could hear was that tiny gasping sound Laurent had made, barely audible over the thundering clamor of his heart.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The next time it happens, Auguste is less sure that it is a mistake.</p><p>(Laurent doesn't make mistakes, except when he does.)</p><p>Laurent had called him earlier, asking if he wanted to watch some movie with him and Damen. Auguste had agreed, having nothing better to do on a Wednesday night (and also it was his fucking house too, like he needed an invitation to sit in his own living room and watch a movie) and Laurent had asked him to grab some dinner on the way home, which was likely the real reason for even calling him in the first place.</p><p>“That Thai place down the street,” Laurent says, and Auguste can hear the background noises of the office where Laurent worked. “You know what I want?”</p><p>“I know what you want, and I know what Damen wants,” Auguste says, his voice a little more snappish than he had intended. “It's not like I haven't brought you guys food before.”</p><p>“All right,” Laurent says, and there's something teasing in his voice that makes Auguste's blood boil. “Text me as soon as you have the food, okay?”</p><p>“Okay,” Auguste says.</p><p>“That way I'll know when you'll be home,” he says, as if Auguste needed fucking clarification on what a text like that was for. “I'll know when to expect you.”</p><p>“I get it, Laurent,” Auguste says, a little annoyed. He had been out of sorts since that incident at the party, and the image of Laurent's eyes fluttering closed and the way Damen's arms had curled around him flashes in his mind. He pushes it aside. “Around six.”</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>Auguste ends the call, and wonders what this feeling in the pit of his stomach is.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>(6:11) Got the food, omw</p><p>(6:11) <em>Okay, thanks. Love you.</em></p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>It's only a five minute walk from the restaurant to their apartment, and when Auguste puts his key to the lock to let himself in he already knows something is wrong. The door is unlocked. The door is <em>never</em> unlocked. Laurent is pathological about keeping the door locked at all times—he would bring his key with him and lock the door behind him when he went down the hallway to check the mail or take out the trash, for god's sake, even if Damen or Auguste were still inside the apartment. If Laurent is home then the door is locked, and that's that. No exceptions.</p><p>The door is unlocked.</p><p>Auguste slips in quietly, the absolute worst thoughts already playing through his head. Someone had broken in (the door was still in one piece, and showed no signs of forced entry). Laurent had brought more people over, and they hadn't locked the door behind them (Laurent didn't like having people over, except for Damen, and he would have made Auguste get more food if that were the case anyway). Someone was hurt, and they were waiting on emergency services to come and help (there were sounds coming from the living room, and they didn't sound hurt).</p><p>Auguste puts the bags of food down quietly on the floor. He's not sure what makes him sneak a peak around the corner to see who's in the living room, rather than barging in and just asking what's wrong, but when he looks, when he <em>sees</em>, he goes absolutely still.</p><p>Laurent is on his knees in front of Damen, and he has Damen's cock in his mouth. Damen's hands are tangled up in Laurent's golden hair, alternately pushing him towards a rhythm he likes and stroking softly in reassurance. They're <em>beautiful</em>. They both are. Damen has his head thrown back, the smooth column of his throat exposed, and then he's leaning forward, talking nonsense to Laurent in a soft, gentle voice (<em>like that, oh god, you're so beautiful sweetheart, faster</em>) and Laurent's looking up at him so reverently as his mouth works so expertly, his hands braced on Damen's enormous thighs, taking Damen's ridiculous cock like he was born for it.</p><p>Auguste is getting hard, watching them.</p><p>He ducks behind the wall, knowing he should let them have their privacy. But...goddamn it, this is his house too, and they had <em>rules</em> about fucking in the living room. And Laurent knew he was coming home with food, he had texted him not five minutes ago...</p><p>
  <em>Okay, thanks. Love you.</em>
</p><p>His breath is coming faster now.</p><p>He <em>had</em> texted him. And Laurent had responded; he couldn't pretend he didn't get the message, or didn't see it. He <em>knew</em> it only took five minutes to get home, must have known that Auguste would walk in on them...and the door had been open...</p><p>(Laurent never leaves the door open. Never makes mistakes, except when he does.)</p><p>Auguste peeks around the corner again. The way that they're sitting on the couch leaves them slightly at an angle; they won't be able to see him unless one of them turns, and right now neither one of them have eyes except for each other (except the door had been <em>open</em>, goddammit) and Auguste knows he won't be seen unless he draws attention to himself. He puts a hand down to his cock, completely, achingly hard by now, and stifles the sobbing noise that threatens to wrack his entire body when he finally gets fingers around himself. He imagines what it would be like kneeling on that floor like Laurent's doing right now, licking a hot stripe up Damen's cock, what it would feel like in his mouth—what Laurent would look like taking <em>his</em> cock, his mouth usually so sharp and cruel but now stretched around him in pleasure—</p><p>He comes into his hand in an embarrassingly short amount of time, and in the other room he can hear Damen following shortly after. He has a mess to clean up and he has to do it fast, before they notice him, but he wants to watch and see if Laurent swallows Damen's spend (he does). And then—then—Laurent reaches up from his position on the floor and kisses Damen and Damen groans into it, using his thumb to clean up a bit of missed spill on his lips and Auguste turns away, grabbing the napkins from their dinner to clean up his hands. He knows his face is burning and a hot feeling of shame courses through him. He grabs their dinner as quietly as he can and slips out the front door, using the time it takes to find a garbage can and throw away the napkins to calm down, to will his beating heart to slow down to something approximating normal (the door was unlocked; what even was normal anymore?) He still doesn't know if he'll be able to look at either one of them in the eye when he returns, but he takes a calming breath and comes back in, the bags of food clutched tightly in his hand, and he opens the door as loudly as he can.</p><p>“I'm home,” he says. His voice cracks. He shuts the door behind him with his foot and puts the food on the floor. “I'm gonna go get changed. You guys get started without me.”</p><p>He can hear Laurent let out a breathy laugh, and Auguste knows his cheeks are flaming but he's already safely in his room. He takes a second to lean up against the door. Thirty deep breaths later and his work clothes changed out for lounging clothes he returns to find the two of them sprawled out on the floor, food containers everywhere. Auguste leaps onto the couch, sitting where Damen had sat just a minute ago with Laurent kneeling in between his legs, and grabs a container of pad thai away from Laurent, who glares at him.</p><p>“Did they forget the napkins?” Damen says, looking around in the bags.</p><p>Auguste shoves some food in his mouth to hide his answer.</p><p>Laurent smirks at him.</p><p>They watch their movie.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>It's Saturday night, and Auguste doesn't feel like going out. He thinks about going out to a club, picking up someone in that effortless way he's always able to, but there's something frankly unappealing about the prospect and honestly it's such an unusual feeling for him that it's not something he wants to look at too deeply. So instead he's in his sweat pants, lounging on the couch, one arm thrown carelessly above his head. He's watching something on TV—a nature documentary, looks like, he didn't really have anything in mind and just turned on whatever seemed like it wouldn't annoy him—and tries not to let his thoughts drift too much.</p><p>He hears the door to Laurent's room open, and then shut again. Hears soft footsteps against the floor.</p><p>
  <em>There's a cheetah in the grass, and its gaze is on a gazelle. The gazelle is munching away on some food, oblivious to the danger. Why doesn't the camera man help it? Can't he see what's about to happen? Doesn't he know? Doesn't he care?</em>
</p><p>Laurent's dressed in sharp pants and a button down shirt, impeccably tailored and fitted to his slim frame. He looks like a fucking movie star. So he's going out, then. A surge of anger rises up, and he relentlessly pushes it back down. It's not like they had agreed to spend the day together or anything. And of course Laurent would want to go out with his boyfriend. That's what people in relationships did, right? He had no hold over him, over either of them. Maybe he <em>would</em> get up and get dressed, go out, pick up some hot thing at a bar. A blonde, maybe, with a smile that's too vicious for his own good. Or a tall, dark man with dark curls and broad shoulders and a dimple that comes out when he smiles—</p><p>He turns his attention back to the TV.</p><p>
  <em>The cheetah is running now, paws pounding on the ground, hurtling itself towards its target with reckless speed.</em>
</p><p>Auguste can tell that Laurent has noticed him lounging on the couch, and he can imagine exactly the face Laurent is making right now, can almost hear the thoughts whirling through his head (as if he could ever predict what Laurent was thinking). He stubbornly doesn't look back. Laurent walks over to the couch and taps Auguste's feet, wordlessly asking him to move so he can sit down, but Auguste doesn't budge, doesn't even acknowledge his presence. Petty, he knows, and more becoming a younger brother than an older one, but Laurent was leaving soon, it was obvious he was about to go, and he could afford to stand for a few more minutes until his date got here.</p><p>“Auguste.” Flat, annoyed.</p><p>“What.”</p><p>“I want to sit.”</p><p>“So sit on the floor, then.”</p><p>Auguste turns his attention towards Laurent then, aware that he has just issued a challenge but unsure what Laurent's response will be. (Laurent never makes mistakes; Laurent never backs down from a challenge). When Laurent realizes that he isn't joking and has no intention to move he turns a look on Auguste that is downright predatory, and before he knows what's happening Laurent is kicking off his shoes and climbing onto the couch with him, practically on top of him. Auguste makes a noise of protest—he hopes it's protest—but Laurent hushes him as he lays down next to him and tucks into Auguste's side, his head resting on Auguste's chest, a casually thrown arm over Auguste's waist. Their legs tangle together, Laurent's knee hooked around Auguste's. His shirt is probably wrinkled now, those crisp clean lines ruined, pressed up against Auguste's old, ripped t-shirt. </p><p>
  <em>The cheetah outmaneuvers the gazelle and its this, the hairpin turn made in a decision that takes a fraction of a second, that allows him to take down his prey.</em>
</p><p>This had not been his plan when he decided not to move.</p><p>(He knows Laurent never backs down from a challenge).</p><p>“What are you watching?” Laurent asks innocently, like they weren't snuggled together right now, close as lovers. He wonders if Laurent snuggles Damen like this after they fuck, and closes his eyes against the image that conjures in his brain.</p><p>“Nature documentary,” Auguste answers, although he thinks it's fairly obvious. The cheetah is ripping through viscera right now, and Auguste sympathizes.</p><p>“Is it interesting?”</p><p>“Very,” Auguste says, though he's concentrating so hard on what's happening on the TV right now that he can hardly say anything else. “What are you doing?”</p><p>“Just trying to get comfy until Damen gets here,” he says, and his fingers have found the gap between the soft college t-shirt he's wearing and the waist of his sweatpants, and he's making lazy circles against his skin. Auguste wonders a little hysterically if he should find this as hot as he does, this light touch against him. He and Laurent had certainly been closer than this before, swimming, maybe, or hugging, it was hardly the first time they had cuddled on the couch in front of the TV, but it was <em>different</em>, now, for some reason.</p><p>He knows the reason.</p><p>No, he has to stop that train of thought immediately. This was already an incredible dangerous situation, and he knows that his blood is already being rerouted from his brain down to his cock, knows that it will be obvious enough if he lets this continue. It <em>cannot</em> continue.</p><p>He doesn't move.</p><p>On the TV, the cheetah is neck deep in blood.</p><p>He makes to push up off the couch but Laurent's hand is on his chest now, pushing him back down. His touch is light but it's enough to keep Auguste down; he knows that if it came down to it he could overpower Laurent and <em>oh god</em> was that also something he did not need to have in his head right now.</p><p>“Stay,” Laurent says, “just for a little while?”</p><p>“Laurent, I need to--”</p><p>“Please?”</p><p>And just like that, Auguste is helpless to do anything but obey. Laurent's hand returns to the waistband of his pants, drawing those lazy circles against his skin again. Every touch is like fire, and Auguste is certain that soon he'll be consumed by it. Swallowed up into it. Like Laurent swallowed Damen the other day, the way his throat was raspy for hours afterwards while they talked over the movie—</p><p>“Hello?” Damen's voice coming from the entrance of the apartment, snapping him out of his thoughts. He is fully hard now, despite his (admittedly terrible) attempts to try otherwise, but either Laurent hasn't noticed or is pretending not to. His hand is so close to his cock, just a few inches and he would be able to wrap long, slender fingers around him. He expects him to jump up to go greet his boyfriend, but his arm only tightens possessively around Auguste's waist as Damen pads into the room. Auguste remembers how he had seen them at the party, how Laurent's arms had looped around Damen's neck, fingers tangled in the curls of Damen's hair.</p><p>“We're watching a nature documentary,” Laurent calls out lazily, and Auguste can hear the air quotes around the words, as if Laurent couldn't even be bothered to pretend. He tries to move again, but is held down once more by an insistent push from Laurent.</p><p>“Sounds interesting,” Damen says, his tone indicating otherwise, and comes around the corner, smiling down warmly at Laurent. No—smiling at <em>both</em> of them. “Well. Aren't the two of you a pretty little picture.”</p><p>“Hello, lover,” Laurent says, pushing himself up to a half sitting position while still maintaining a proprietary grip on Auguste. “Aren't you going to greet me properly?”</p><p>Damen's full attention is on Laurent now and he smiles, those dimples of his coming out in full force. Laurent's propped himself up on Auguste's chest, a hand pressing down on Auguste's hip, keeping him in place while Laurent tips his head up. And Damen meets him, not for a quick peck against the lips but for a deep, full kiss.</p><p>And Auguste is helpless to look away. Damen uses a finger to tip up Laurent's chin and Laurent follows the motion artlessly, hungry for the attention. The hand on his hip curls almost painfully against the bone there, and Auguste sees the barest flicker of Laurent's tongue dart out and lick against Damen's lips. Damen huffs out a laugh and breaks away, looking down at his boyfriend fondly.</p><p>“Come on,” he says, extending a hand to Laurent. “We'll be late.”</p><p>“<em>I</em> was ready on time,” Laurent says, always needling, and instead of getting off the couch by Auguste's feet, the way he had climbed on, he throws a leg over and straddles Auguste for just the briefest moment—too brief, in Auguste's mind, but also too long to not be intentional—before pushing himself off and into Damen's waiting arms. Damen steadies him as he slips into his shoes again and Auguste knows that Laurent had been able to feel how hard he was; he couldn't have imagined that slight pressure of Laurent's hips against his own, before he got up, and it's that more than anything that has him reaching out and grabbing Laurent's wrist, his grip loose but insistent.</p><p>A decision made in a fraction of a second. The difference between life and death.</p><p>“Aren't you going to say goodbye to me properly?” he asks, echoing Laurent's earlier question.</p><p>Auguste doesn't miss the way Laurent's hand tightens in Damen's, or the sly smile they share with each other. With slow, agonizing deliberateness, Laurent reaches down to Auguste and tips his chin up with gentle fingers, as Damen had done.</p><p>And then.</p><p>Laurent presses his lips against Auguste. They're soft and warm and he tastes pleasantly of mint; Auguste wants to reach up and drag him down, run his fingers through his hair, so carefully brushed back and styled for his night out, but he holds back, lets Laurent take charge of how this is going to play out. He feels a brush of tongue against his lips and opens instantly, and he can feel Laurent smiling against him but he doesn't care. He doesn't care about anything right now except how good this feels, and how it shouldn't. How he shouldn't be able to hear the slight uptick in Damen's breathing, how he shouldn't be wondering what Damen would taste like too, the three of them mingling together. How he shouldn't—</p><p>And then Laurent is breaking away from him, staring down at him with those bright blue eyes, so many shades brighter and more intense than his own pale hazel color. Auguste wants to shake him by the shoulders, ask him what he's doing, ask him why he obviously wants this so much when he knows he shouldn't, wants to rip and tear and gnash at him until he's not smiling anymore but gasping and writhing beneath him—</p><p>“Goodbye, brother,” Laurent murmurs. “Don't wait up for us.”</p><p>A split second decision, made in a fraction of a second.</p><p>Auguste wonders if he's the predator, or the prey.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>They haven't talked about it.</p><p>It's mostly his doing; since the day Laurent had kissed him he had avoided both of them as much as possible. He pulled a few late nights at the office, had stayed at a hotel one night, just so that he could avoid seeing Laurent. Or Damen. Or both of them. Either of them.</p><p>But he couldn't stay away forever. He had to go home eventually, if nothing else then just to get some clean clothes. And then when he finally came home they still didn't talk about it. Auguste thought that maybe it had all been a big mistake, that Laurent had regretted what he did even though it was just a kiss (but there had been <em>tongue</em>), or maybe Damen had told him off about it (but he had <em>smiled</em>). Or something. But they don't talk, not about that. In fact, if Auguste wasn't totally consumed by it at all hours of the day he could have easily imagined that it had never happened—Laurent certainly didn't act at all affected by it, and treated him exactly the same as he always did.</p><p>Which was part of the problem though, wasn't it?</p><p>“You've been acting weird,” Laurent says to him one day, cornering him in the kitchen when he had snuck in there to grab a drink to bring back to his room (where he was definitively <em>not</em> hiding).</p><p>“Well you're always weird, so we're even, don't you think?” Auguste says, and is rewarded by getting to see a small smile tug at the corner of Laurent's lips (he had kissed those lips, he knew how soft they were) as he rolls his eyes.</p><p>“Damen's coming over tonight,” Laurent says, and Auguste isn't sure if he's changing the subject or not. “Do you want to watch a movie with us?”</p><p>Auguste considers, remembers the last movie they had all watched, the way Damen had put his arm around Laurent's shoulders and had rubbed tiny circles there unthinkingly, the same circles that Laurent had rubbed into his hip, so close to his cock—</p><p>“I don't think so. You guys have fun, though,” he says, closing his eyes briefly.</p><p>“What, like you have other plans? Come on, it'll be fun,” Laurent says, and his eyes are so blue, so cold, like the color of the inside of a glacier, and Auguste feels like he's on fire.</p><p>“Please?” Laurent says when he doesn't answer, and any protests he could make turn to ash on his lips.</p><p>He could never deny Laurent anything.</p><p>He had never wanted to.</p><p>Auguste doesn't wonder anymore if he is predator or prey. He knows what he is. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>They pop in some movie that Damen brings over and Auguste has already forgotten the name of it before the title fades from the screen. Laurent is sitting in Damen's lap and Auguste hasn't been able to concentrate on anything except the way Laurent is squirming or the way Damen is complaining about how much Laurent is squirming.</p><p>“Will you <em>stop moving</em>,” Damen hisses for the millionth time, fingers tight around Laurent's arm. “You are driving me <em>crazy</em>, Laurent.”</p><p>“I can't help it,” he says testily, trying to settle. “I get comfortable for one second and then you start poking me in the back with your ridiculous—”</p><p>“Will the two of you please stop?” Auguste says, cutting Laurent off before he can hear the end of that sentence. “I am trying to watch this movie.” A lie. “And if you can't stop feeling each other up for two seconds you should go to your room. I don't want to watch.” Another lie.</p><p>Admittedly the whole thing does come out sounding a lot bitchier than he intended. Laurent's eyes light up with something that looks a lot like malice at the rebuke and Auguste feels his heart squeeze painfully. Beautiful and terrifying in equal measures; he had always loved that about Laurent.</p><p>“Go to my room?” Laurent repeats, in a tone of voice that only serves to highlight how ridiculous Auguste had sounded. “Are you going to ground me, too?”</p><p>“Fuck you, Laurent,” Auguste says, and he knows his cheeks are burning. Damen leans down and whispers something into Laurent's ear and to Auguste's surprise Laurent calms immediately.</p><p>“Okay, okay.” This part he says to Damen. “I'm sorry, all right?” he says to Auguste, placating, and puts his palms up like he's calming a spooked horse. “I was out of line.”</p><p>Auguste is taken aback; usually Laurent loved to fight until someone either gave in or exploded, and it was unlike him to retreat so early on, especially when Auguste was obviously well on his way to a catastrophic combustion.</p><p>“You were,” is all he manages in response. He was <em>not</em> going to apologize; he had nothing to apologize for. They turn and watch the movie for another few moments, the three of them relaxing into something resembling calm. Laurent is finally settled against Damen's chest, and he reaches back absently to run his fingers through Damen's hair. The movement stretches his torso, highlights how lean and slender he is, how small he seems against Damen, who is a solid wall of muscle behind him. Auguste wonders what they'd look like naked, splayed out like this, Laurent taking Damen's cock, split apart by it. He shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath. He's not going to be able to do this.</p><p>“Are you okay, Auguste?” Damen asks, after a minute. “You've seemed a little...jittery lately.”</p><p>Auguste lets out a harsh laugh. “Yeah, well. It's nothing. Seriously. Just work.”</p><p>Another lie, and by now he's risking Laurent's ire. Laurent could always tell when he was lying, and he was never sure if it always made him mad because of the act itself (unlikely, considering how much and how often he employed it himself) or because Auguste was so bad at it (likely). He wasn't like Laurent though, he couldn't contain everything in neat little boxes; he had never quite figured out the way of it. </p><p>“It's not nothing,” Laurent says. “If there's something the matter you can talk to us, brother.”</p><p>“Don't,” Auguste says, warning. “There's nothing to talk about.”</p><p>Laurent doesn't say anything, but when Auguste turns to look Laurent's hand has stilled against Damen's neck and he's eyeing him thoughtfully.</p><p>“It's not nothing,” he says again, and then unwraps himself from Damen and leans in to peer at Auguste like he's trying to see the answer written on Auguste's face, plain as day if only he could get close enough to read it. “It's been a while since you've brought anyone home.”</p><p>Auguste rolls his eyes. It had been a while—since before that damned party, if he was being honest. Leave it to Laurent to hone in on that.</p><p>“Let it go, Laurent.”</p><p>“Maybe he's just frustrated,” Damen says, his voice lower than Auguste had ever heard it. “You know. Sexually.”</p><p>Auguste scoffs, but the sound comes out more like a gasp than anything.</p><p>“Damen,” Laurent chides, but the look he sends Damen isn't angry, not even a little. “You shouldn't say something like that unless you were offering to help fix it.”</p><p>Damen leans forward, pressing up against Laurent, his lips finding that tender spot behind Laurent's ear. Laurent shudders beautifully under his touch. Their eyes never leave Auguste.</p><p>“Maybe I am offering.”</p><p>There's a pause, and it takes Auguste a second for his brain to catch up and realize that Damen—that the <em>two</em> of them—are waiting for an answer. From him. About whether he wants this—wants what they're offering.</p><p>And he knows he shouldn't. Shouldn't say yes, shouldn't want to (shouldn't have grabbed Laurent's wrist, shouldn't have challenged him, knowing what Laurent did when faced with a challenge) shouldn't know already that he's going to say yes, that he'll take anything that the two of them are willing to give him—</p><p>“You're fucking my brother,” Auguste says, a token argument. Hoping that either one of them will find the reason in it, even if he can't.</p><p>“Not right this second he's not,” Laurent says. “Although if you'd rather watch...”</p><p>“This isn't about us, Laurent,” Damen says gently. “This is about what we can give to Auguste. If he wants us to. If he'll let us.”</p><p>Damen's wrong. This <em>is</em> about them, about the two of them, so pretty together and it's obvious, now, that they've planned this from the beginning, planned on how to seduce him, like he needed something with finesse and not Damen just sitting here asking and Laurent waiting eagerly for his response, his breath catching in his throat, his eyes shining like Auguste had put the fucking stars in the sky just for him.</p><p>“Yes,” he says, a breath, a gasp, a whoosh of air from starved lungs, and he tries not to fixate on how victorious Laurent's smile is, how radiant.</p><p>“Damen,” Laurent says, and Damen nods, his name holding a command that only the two of them understand, and he pushes himself up off the couch and kneels in front of Auguste, his eyes bright and shining with eagerness. Laurent grins warmly at him and cozies up to Auguste's side, grabbing his hand and lacing their fingers together, stroking Damen's hair with his other hand.</p><p>“Damen's very good, brother,” Laurent says, his breath hot against Auguste's ear. “Can we show you?”</p><p>“Can you—” Auguste starts, and then stops. He's two steps behind, has been this whole time. Damen's hands are on his thighs, like Laurent's had been that time Auguste watched them, and he knows now beyond a doubt that everything had been intentional, not a mistake at all and he should have known that they had <em>wanted</em> him to see them like that, wanted to see what he would do, how he would react. They had planned on it, just like they had planned this. </p><p>“Yes,” he says again, knows that this would be his answer regardless, unable to speak any other words except yes from now until eternity.</p><p>“Is he hard?” Laurent asks, tipping his head slightly down towards Damen.</p><p>“Mmm,” Damen says, and then runs his hands over Auguste's pants where his cock is trapped painfully against the fabric. Auguste jumps at the touch, and then arches into it. “Yes. Very hard.”</p><p>“Already,” Laurent says, and Auguste can hear the smile in his voice. He can't look over to confirm, knows that if he has to look at Laurent right now he would burn up with shame, or passion, or some heady mix of the two. “I knew he would be. He must want this very badly. Unzip his pants, Damen. Slowly.”</p><p>With a start, Auguste realizes that this is how it's going to go—with Damen on his knees in front of him, Laurent whispering instructions with that filthy mouth of his—and he groans as Damen undoes the front of his pants and takes out his hard, aching cock.</p><p>Two steps behind. </p><p>“Beautiful,” Laurent whispers, a breathy sigh escaping his lips, and then, “how does he taste?”</p><p>Damen licks a hot stripe up Auguste's cock and Auguste groans, the sound pulled out forcefully from somewhere deep inside of him.</p><p>“Like you, but different,” Damen says, licking his lips, cock sommelier. “Can I...?” And then he's pushing up, claiming Laurent's lips, and Auguste thinks that he might actually die.</p><p>“I like it,” Laurent says when he finishes, and Damen laughs and settles back down between Auguste's legs.</p><p>“What a surprise,” he says dryly, and then licks another stripe down Auguste's cock.</p><p>“Do that thing with your tongue,” Laurent says, settling back against Auguste. The pressure of Laurent on his side and Damen between his legs is already almost too much for him, and they had just gotten started. “You know the one. See if he likes it as much as I do.”</p><p>And then Damen does something delightful with his tongue, and Auguste has to keep himself from arcing up fully off the couch, from pushing too far into Damen's mouth. He can hear Laurent laugh next to him.</p><p>“He does, it seems,” Laurent says, amusement evident. “Do it again.”</p><p>And Damen does, following Laurent's precise instructions (<em>take him deeper, pull off now, just the head, go lower</em>) and occasionally adding his own flair, which earns pleased little huffs from Laurent, and Auguste isn't going to last much longer with those filthy words coming out of Laurent's mouth and that excellent technique coming from Damen's. It's too much, and all for him.</p><p>“Put your hands in his hair,” Laurent whispers, this instructions just for him this time, not for Damen. “He likes when you tug on his curls.”</p><p>Auguste does, and Damen leans into his touch like a cat, causing Laurent to huff in amusement, though whether it's at Damen's reaction or his own willingness to follow his command so quickly he doesn't know.</p><p>But Auguste thinks suddenly that he's had far too much of Laurent being calm and composed during this encounter. Untangling their fingers he reaches over and places his free hand over Laurent's cock, which does have the unfortunate consequence of stopping the stream of filthy instructions he's been giving to Damen, but the noise he makes in response to Auguste palming him makes up for it. Laurent is achingly, ridiculously hard, and his hips give a little stutter as Auguste presses against him and the feeling of Damen's warm mouth around his cock and Laurent's exquisite hardness under his hand is too much—</p><p>That shouldn't have been the greatest orgasm of his life. He shouldn't like doing that as much as he did, shouldn't want even more, shouldn't want to see how Laurent would look underneath him, what Damen would feel like on top of him, what depths of pleasure the three of them could find—</p><p>He shouldn't, but he does.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Laurent bruises the same color of purple whether it's Auguste's mouth or Damen's on him. </p><p>Those soft bruises were galaxies stamped upon him, made up of tiny clusters of stars and light and Auguste thinks it's fitting because only something as large as the universe could properly encompass the love that he feels for his brother. </p><p>It's proof, he thinks.  Of what--he's not entirely sure, or maybe just not entirely willing to put it to words.  But if this thing they were doing was wrong then surely those marks would be a different color--black, maybe, or bright neon green, some garish, outlandish color that doubled as a beacon, a neon sign of regret, a physical tell that Laurent didn't want him like he wanted Laurent.  At night the three of them would go to bed together and in the morning Laurent would be speckled with those bruises, covered in their galaxies, that beautiful purple iridescent color affectionately given to him by the two people who loved him most in the whole world. Laurent would tut, sometimes, and tell the both of them off for having such filthy mouths but Auguste caught him one morning staring at those marks in the mirror and smiling and he knows that Laurent likes having them as much as he likes giving them. </p><p>And they're the same color on Laurent's skin whether it's him or Damen making them.</p><p>That <em>has</em> to mean something, he thinks.</p><p>Doesn't it?</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“She wasn't flirting with me, Laurent.”</p><p>“Just because you're too oblivious to notice doesn't mean that wasn't what was happening,” Laurent says, putting their groceries away. He had a special system for it that Auguste always somehow messed up no matter how many times it was explained to him, and so instead of helping or getting in the way Auguste leans up against the counter and watches. For the past few days Laurent's mood had been stormy, and he knew it was only a matter of time before it became a raging tempest. Auguste had been waiting for it.</p><p>“I think you're jealous,” Auguste says. He thinks about those people whose jobs it is to chase tornadoes and feels a strange kinship with them right now.</p><p>“You said yourself she wasn't flirting. What do I have to be jealous about?” Laurent says, and slams the fridge door with enough force to rattle all of the bottles inside, clinking around like wind chimes in a gale. </p><p>“You're talking yourself in circles, Laurent. Come here.”</p><p>Laurent glares at him with such intensity that he can feel the electricity crackling in the air, sizzling against his skin. He doesn't answer but instead turns to unload the rest of the groceries and Auguste makes sure to wait until all of the freezer items are away before talking again.</p><p>“I know you miss Damen, brother. I do too. He's only gone for two more days.”</p><p>“I am very aware of when he's coming home,” Laurent snaps. “And I don't—”</p><p>“Laurent,” Auguste says, his voice hard. “Come. Here.”</p><p>Laurent responds to this tone of voice, finally, as he hadn't to anything else, his eyes burning as he comes to stand in front of Auguste, arms crossed protectively across his chest, his stance signaling he was ready for a fight.</p><p>But Auguste knew the other signs now, too.</p><p>The quickening of his breath.</p><p>The way his pupils widened, black obscuring the blue.</p><p>The way he knew that if he took Laurent's shirt off, right now, he would see pebbled nipples aching for someone to touch and if he traveled lower, fingers trailing past the light dusting of golden hair there, he would find him hardening.</p><p>He knew all of that, now.</p><p>He reaches out a hand to cup Laurent's face and for a moment—a fraction of a second—Laurent leans into it, giving himself away as if all the other signs of his body hadn't advertised it, before he turns and sinks his teeth into the flesh of Auguste's palm.</p><p>Auguste yanks his hand back—and smiles. Turning on his heel he leaves Laurent standing there and walks into the other room, his phone already out in his hand.</p><p>“What are you doing?” Laurent demands, following him.</p><p>Auguste doesn't answer, only looks at him levelly as he dials up the number he's had ready ever since the incident at the coffee shop. They had known it would come to this; they had planned on it.</p><p>“Damen? Hi. Are you busy right now?”</p><p>“<em>Hey, Auguste. No, actually we just finished and I got back to the hotel a few minutes ago.”</em></p><p>“Good.”</p><p>“Are you seriously calling my boyfriend?” Laurent asks, incredulous. His cheeks are flaming. “Hang up right now, Auguste.”</p><p>“<em>Is that Laurent?</em>”</p><p>“Yeah, that's him. Hissing like a cat,” Auguste says, and has to turn away to hide a smile at Laurent's outraged face. “You'll never believe what he said to the barista at the coffee shop who he thought was flirting with me.”</p><p>Laurent curses under his breath and grabs for the phone, but Auguste is faster, and taller, and swoops out of his reach easily.</p><p>“<em>That sounds like him,</em>” Damen says after Auguste tells him about the incident, and Auguste can picture exactly the fond expression he's making on the other side of the phone right now. “<em>He's a possessive little demon, sometimes.</em>”</p><p>“My sentiments exactly,” Auguste says, ignoring the death glare he was getting right now. “I was wondering if you thought we should teach him a lesson.”</p><p>“Oh,” says Laurent, suddenly still.</p><p>Eye of the storm. </p><p>“<em>Put me on speaker, Auguste,</em>” Damen says, a little more urgent now, and there's some rustling in the background and Auguste imagines Damen getting comfortable in whatever plush hotel bed he's in. “Laurent, can you hear me?”</p><p>“I can hear you,” Laurent says, trying to maintain his cool composure and failing spectacularly. “Have you two been planning this?”</p><p>“It's always wise to have a plan when it comes to you, Laurent,” Auguste says, grinning at him. He goes to sit on the sofa and places the phone on the arm so that he won't have to worry about holding it; he has a feeling he's going to have his hands full in just a few minutes.</p><p>“I think we should go with the third plan we talked about,” Damen says.</p><p>“You have <em>multiple</em> plans?” Laurent grits out. “We are definitely talking about this when you get home, Damianos.”</p><p>“I like the third one,” Auguste says, getting comfortable. “I mean, I liked them all. But I like the third one best. Laurent, come here.”</p><p>Laurent doesn't move. They all knew he wouldn't. It was part of the game; he would hardly be Laurent if he did what he was told right away, if all of that self composure wasn't stripped away from him by force.</p><p>Luckily Auguste found that using force against his brother was something he enjoyed quite a bit.</p><p>“If you don't come here right now, it will go worse for you,” Auguste says softly.</p><p>“I don't see why this is necessary,” Laurent says, but he's walking forward, towards Auguste, and so he's willing to forgive the complaining. For now.</p><p>He stops a few feet away and crosses his arms again, glaring murderously at Auguste.</p><p>“Take off your clothes,” Auguste says.</p><p>“What, all of them?” Laurent asks, not moving. “Having me strip and fucking me on the couch is hardly a plan. I should be insulted that the two of you obviously put so little effort into thinking this through but it's really coming out in my favor, so I don't know if I should bother.”</p><p>“He's got a mouth on him today, doesn't he?” Damen asks, laughing, and Laurent shoots the phone one of the bitchiest looks Auguste has ever seen.</p><p>“He always does,” Auguste says. “What're we up to now, Damen?”</p><p>“Three, by my count,” Damen says. “This is a little more difficult over the phone, though. Better be safe and make it six.”</p><p>Laurent narrows his eyes, glaring at Auguste. Auguste looks back flatly at him, and it only takes a moment for Laurent to come to the realization that his usual tricks are not going to work without Damen here, and that Auguste was perhaps better equipped to handle his particular brand of savagery than most.</p><p>“Six what,” he asks, finally.</p><p>“You'll find out in a minute. But you really, really don't want that number to go any higher,” Auguste says. “So you'd better do what we tell you.”</p><p>Laurent sighs and begins unbuttoning his shirt, his fingers moving slowly down the front row of buttons.</p><p>“Good boy,” Auguste says with a smirk.</p><p>“So he's doing it, then?” Damen asks, and Auguste realizes that he's going to need to provide some sort of play by play if Damen was going to get anything out of this.</p><p>“He is,” Auguste says, watching Laurent with hungry eyes. “Although he could be moving faster.”</p><p>Laurent snorts, and says “You never specified how fast I had to move, only that the ultimate goal was to be fully undressed. You can't honestly expect me to read your mind in this matter, and it's not my fault—”</p><p>“Again with the mouthiness,” Damen says. “He must be very turned on right now.”</p><p>“Seems that way,” Auguste says as Laurent shrugs off the shirt and lets it fall to the floor. He marks the slightly uncomfortable way Laurent shifts in front of him. “Take off your pants, Laurent. Unless you're stalling?”</p><p>“Pants next? Should I leave my shoes on, then?” Laurent says, putting his hands to the button of his waistband. “Or am I allowed to do this in a reasonable order?”</p><p>“Better make it eight,” Damen says thoughtfully.</p><p>“But I was just—”</p><p>“Nine,” says Auguste, and the look Laurent turns on him then is downright devastating and Auguste feels it go straight to his cock. Without another word Laurent flips off his shoes and steps out of his pants and he's already achingly hard, and now Auguste can see the flush that's making it's way up his chest and stealing into his cheeks.</p><p>“Perfect,” Auguste says, and the leans over to the phone. “He's already so hard, Damen.”</p><p>“I knew he would be,” Damen says, his voice low with arousal. “We should get started then, don't you think?”</p><p>“Come here, Laurent,” Auguste says, patting the space next to him on the couch. “I want you to kneel here for me.”</p><p>Laurent looks like he's considering saying something, but shuts his mouth and does as he's instructed. It's heady, having Laurent react to him like this, and Auguste wants to run his hands all over that smooth skin, wants to leave his mark on him, a physical manifestation of how much he belongs to him, to them.</p><p>“Did we decide on nine, then?” Auguste asks, turning to the phone.</p><p>“That sounds good,” comes the breathy reply. “I want to hear it, Auguste.”</p><p>“You will,” Auguste says, and turns towards Laurent, kneeling so pretty next to him. “On your hands and knees, over my lap.”</p><p>Laurent's breath is coming faster now, and his hands flex nervously at his side before he stills them. “Are you really—”</p><p>“That'll be ten then, and it doesn't have to go any higher as long as you do what I say,” Auguste says, warning. “Go on, Laurent.”</p><p>With a brief calculating look Laurent complies, bracing himself over Auguste's lap, his cock jutting out at an angle. The way he's positioned puts his face very near to the phone; Auguste hopes that Damen appreciates it, and reaches back for the first slap.</p><p>The sound his hand makes coming into contact with Laurent's ass is gorgeous. A clear, ringing sound of flesh hitting flesh, made infinitely better by the slightly shocked noise Laurent makes, a breathy gasp that makes Auguste's cock twitch in his pants. Damen makes a groaning sound from the other end of the phone, and knows that he had been able to hear it too.</p><p>“What are you--”</p><p>Another loud slap rings through the apartment, shutting Laurent up immediately.</p><p>“It should be pretty obvious what I'm doing, Laurent,” Auguste says, rubbing his hand gently over Laurent's stinging skin. “You're down to eight now, don't make this worse than it has to be.”</p><p>Auguste lands a few more blows on Laurent's ass, with Laurent squirming with each hit. Auguste can tell when his movements change from an instinctual reflex to get away from the pain and into something more, something headier, chasing the sting of the hit rather than shying away from it. His arms buckle somewhere around the sixth hit and Auguste doesn't make him get back up; he likes it, likes that he's driven Laurent's body to rebel like this, and he likes the feeling of Laurent's cock rubbing up against his lap, Laurent grinding against him trying desperately to find some friction. Auguste wonders if he and Damen had ever done anything like this before, if Laurent liked a little pain. He hopes they hadn't. He hopes he's the first one who's introduced Laurent to it.</p><p>“His ass is so red, Damen,” Auguste says, marveling at it. Laurent makes a choked off sound of need and grinds against Auguste's lap, as if he's reminding him he's still there. Like Auguste could forget. “Hang on, let me show you.”</p><p>“How are you going to—don't you dare, Auguste,” Laurent says, his voice rough as Auguste snaps a picture of his ass. There are blooms of red everywhere, some defined enough in their shape to show Auguste's fingers.</p><p>“Look, Laurent,” Auguste says, showing him the picture. “See how pretty you are? You can't see your face, or mine. No one will know. No one except Damen and I. Does that sound alright?”</p><p>Laurent stares at it for a moment before burying his face in the couch.</p><p>“Fine,” he mumbles into the cushions.</p><p>Auguste smiles and sends the picture along to Damen who groans when he gets it.</p><p>“God, you've got such a beautiful ass, sweetheart,” Damen says, and there's some rustling sounds coming from the other end of the phone that leaves no question as to what Damen's about right now. “Auguste, after the next slap you should start to loosen him up.”</p><p>Laurent makes a whimpering sound at that and Auguste makes sure to put the phone back on the arm, where Damen would be able to hear every sound coming out of Laurent's mouth. Well, when he wasn't burying his head into the cushions.</p><p>“Would you like that, Laurent?” Auguste asks, feeling an illicit thrill race through him. They had fucked before but so far Damen had always been present, and even though he was still here now he wasn't here physically and it felt...closer. Like it could just be the two of them, like Damen was the outsider, instead of him.</p><p>“Yes,” Laurent says on a breath, and Auguste brings his hand down again. His ass is well on its way to becoming just a field of red and Auguste puts his hand over the skin gently, feeling the heat radiating upwards. Laurent was going to feel this for a good while. He wondered if tomorrow he would sit in his office chair and wince and remember that it was Auguste who had done this to him, and how it would affect him. Maybe he'd be so overcome with lust at the memory of it that he'd have to take himself in hand and bring himself off in the employee bathroom just to concentrate. Auguste feels his hips jerk up, an involuntary response to that image.</p><p>“Open,” Auguste says, reaching around to Laurent's mouth. Laurent takes his fingers in immediately, hungrily, and begins sucking on them with all of the finesse he uses when it's Auguste's or Damen's dick in his mouth. Auguste laughs.</p><p>“Look at you,” he says, as Laurent takes him in deeper. “You'd think that you couldn't wait for me to start opening you. Do you want me to fuck you tonight?”</p><p>“Yes, Auguste,” he says, panting as Auguste slips his fingers out, wet with his saliva. “Please. Damen, please.”</p><p>A jolt, to remember that Damen is there, but now that he's been reminded he can hear the labored breathing coming from the phone.</p><p>“We're going to stick to the plan, sweetheart,” Damen says softly. “What you want doesn't matter anymore. We'll do what we planned no matter how much you beg.”</p><p>And doesn't that cause a beautiful reaction in Laurent, shivering under Damen's words as Auguste slips the first finger in. Laurent cries out, louder than he usually does when they do this and Auguste wonders if he's doing it for Damen's benefit or if it's because it's him doing it.  He has a feeling he knows what the answer is, but he chooses to believe it's because of him. Laurent may be better at lying to others, but Auguste had always been more than adept at lying to himself.</p><p>After a moment Auguste removes his fingers and reaches back, quick as lightning, to deliver another slap. Laurent cries out for real this time at the surprise of it and Auguste immediately enters him with two fingers, chasing the pleasure/pain that he knows Laurent is feeling right now. His spit slicked fingers are very quickly becoming inadequate for what he wants to do, and with a groan he wraps an arm around Laurent to steady himself and reaches around to the side table where they had stashed some lube after a previous...incident.</p><p>“Aren't you...getting ahead of yourself?” Laurent says, his breath coming out in short exhalations. “I believe I still have two left.”</p><p>Of course Laurent had been counting.</p><p>He can hear Damen laugh on the other end of the line and he smacks Laurent two more times, slightly less hard than before in deference to how sore he must be right now, and Laurent makes a vague sound of disapproval that's overshadowed by a louder, more visceral groan that Auguste pulls out of him when he enters him again, this time with three fully slicked up fingers. He's so tight and warm and perfect and Auguste can't believe that he gets to experience this with him, gets to be so close and intimate with someone he loves so much.</p><p>“Laurent,” he says, and he knows his self control is slipping away from him as sure as he was trying to wrest it away from his brother earlier, “I need you, Laurent.”</p><p>“Yes,” Laurent says, and readjusts.</p><p>Auguste's pants are off in mere seconds, and he's too busy taking in how gorgeous Laurent is to worry about the rest of his clothes. There is just a driving desire to be inside of him, to brand him, to own him, and nothing else even matters. Laurent straddles him and positions himself above Auguste's cock and then he's pushing down, taking all of him in one smooth thrust, and Auguste can't do anything except throw his head back and let the sensation of it wash over him.</p><p>Laurent hisses and stills on his lap, one hand bracing himself against Auguste's chest and one on the arm of the sofa, next to the phone.</p><p>“Fuck,” Laurent says, after a few harsh breaths. “I—my ass is going to be sore tomorrow for a lot of different reasons.”</p><p>Auguste would laugh, if he could do anything except use whatever feeble mental powers he still has to hold himself still while Laurent gets used to the feeling of him, and it's an eternity before Laurent moves, slowly pulling himself up just a little before letting himself fall back down.</p><p>“Auguste, I'm going to need...fuck, why do the two of you have such outrageous dicks?” he growls.</p><p>“Size queen,” Damen laughs. “You love us.”</p><p>“I do,” Laurent says, looking down fondly at Auguste. Auguste feels like he'll be broken apart by it, and Laurent reaches in to kiss him gently. “I love both of you so, so much.”</p><p>“Tell him what you need, Laurent,” Damen says, voice urgent in a way that Auguste feels to his core right now.</p><p>“I need you to move, Auguste,” Laurent says, and Auguste is helpless to do otherwise. He brings his hands up to Laurent's waist to steady him and then begins to thrust up, his feet firmly planted on the floor giving him leverage to do so. He's always been conscious of how much smaller Laurent is than him but in this moment he feels it in a power that thrums through his blood, making him heady; Laurent moves easily under his hands, deftly moving and shifting until Auguste is hitting his sweet spot and Laurent is incandescent, brilliant, a stream of filthy, beautiful words flowing out of his mouth and Auguste can hardly even pay attention to them over the feeling of the tight, hot warmth of Laurent's ass, the way he looks down at him with his hair clinging to his nape, sweat rolling down the elegant planes of his chest, and Laurent cries out and clenches down around him.</p><p>“Auguste,” he says, fucked out and dazed, “come for me, brother.”</p><p>And Auguste does, spending himself inside.</p><p>He had never been one to deny Laurent anything.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>He comes to himself in waves, vaguely registering Laurent slipping off of him, coming back with a towel to help clean up. He smiles at the sweetness of it, the attentiveness, and when Laurent notices him watching he smiles and leans over to kiss him hungrily on the mouth.</p><p>“Consider me chastened,” he murmurs against Auguste's lips.</p><p>He slips away again, and Auguste slowly regains his faculties and blinks out of his post orgasm haze. He had never felt like this before, not with anyone he had ever been with—this sense of overwhelming approval and love and satiation. It was like Laurent had the ability to calm a part of him that was always hungry, that part of him that was always taking home faceless partners, looking for something that he knows, now, he could have never found there, and he could turn that hunger into something...something that felt like home.</p><p>Vaguely he remembers that they had been on the line with Damen this whole time, and he reaches over to end the call. His hand comes away empty, and he realizes that his phone isn't where he left it. He gets up, rights his clothes and stands struck in the middle of the living room, suddenly aware that he's alone, and that's when he hears Laurent's voice coming from down the hallway.</p><p>He goes to investigate, the same instinct that had made him silent when he had found Laurent and Damen together that day so many months ago now flaring up in him once again, and he pauses outside the doorway to Laurent's room, peeking inside as much as possible without disturbing the door.</p><p>Laurent's laying in his bed, his back towards the door and his limbs stretched out like a cat in the sun. He's pulled on some pants and Auguste is again struck by how beautiful he is, tangled up in his bed and still sweaty, evidence of what they had just done still clinging to him in the way he held himself, that careful way he lounged on the bed. He knows that if those pants weren't there he'd be able to see his handiwork on Laurent's ass, and feels a thrill of something dark course through him at the thought.</p><p>And then Laurent laughs, and Auguste realizes that he's not just relaxing. Straining his ears he can hear Damen on the other side of the line, and he suddenly understands where his phone has gone. He didn't need to worry about getting Damen off the line; Laurent was there, talking to him in low, hushed tones and they were murmuring to each other in bed, in the dark, close as lovers.</p><p>Well. That was what they were; there was no use in pretending otherwise. He grits his teeth and wonders if the sound can be heard all the way on the other end of the line; a crushing, gnashing sounds that fuzzes through his brain and leaves him seeing red.  Auguste could do something Damen could not, could be both brother and lover, and couldn't that be enough? More than enough?  Couldn't that satiate Laurent in a way that just Damen alone couldn't? They had their entire lives together, and Damen had only known him for a few years, what could he possibly offer him that Auguste couldn't do infinitely better?</p><p>The door creaks, a little, as Auguste loses his balance. With an instinct he doesn't fully recognize he moves out of the doorway and to the other side of the wall, out of Laurent's view.</p><p>“Auguste? Is that you?” Laurent calls out, his voice easy, light. Auguste holds his breath, hope his wildly beating heart doesn't give him away. He doesn't answer.</p><p>“It was nothing,” Laurent says, and he can hear the bed creaking as Laurent makes himself comfortable again, and then the low murmur of voices as the two pick up their conversation. Auguste waits for a few minutes and then softly, quietly, moves to his room, where he falls asleep with the scent of Laurent still clinging to his skin.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>They go to pick up Damen at the airport two days later.</p><p>They stand next to each other at the area where the terminal dumps out all the arriving passengers, and Auguste wants to take his hand, to reassure himself that he's still with him, but he knows the touch wouldn't be welcome. Laurent is like a boulder sitting on top of a precarious hill; a single push is all it would take to send him hurtling out of control.</p><p>Auguste is the taller of the two; he sees Damen first. Laurent sees him only seconds later.</p><p>A glance, a push, and Laurent is hurtling away from him.</p><p>And Damen is ready to receive the kinetic energy barreling towards him; he drops his bags and opens his arms and Laurent is folded into them in a moment, his feet leaving the ground briefly, and they're kissing now—not the cute, romantic comedy kind of kissing where you chase after your true love in the rain and finally get them to acknowledge you but the desperate, drowning kind of kissing, the kind where you think that you might stop breathing if their breath isn't there filling your lungs, where you think your heart might stop beating unless you can feel theirs pressed up against your chest.</p><p>He wonders what their kiss would look like if it was him coming out of the gate.</p><p>He wonders if there would be a kiss at all.</p><p>“Must be nice, to be missed like that,” an old man says to Auguste, nodding at the two lovebirds. He looks towards Auguste and then back again, considering. “That your brother?”</p><p>People had always told them growing up how alike they were, how much they resembled each other. Not in their body shape, certainly, nor their height, but something about the eyes, people always said. Or their hair.</p><p>Auguste had never been able to see it. Comparing the two of them was like comparing a candle to an LED bulb, or a lake to an ocean. Similar in the very basic senses, sure, but Laurent burned more brightly, contained more depths than he ever could.</p><p>He was a black hole, and Laurent was a supernova. How anyone could see any similarities between the two of them confounded him. </p><p>“Yeah,” Auguste says, but for some reason it comes out more like a question. He tries again. “Yeah, that's my brother.”</p><p>“Ah, your face!” the old man says, cackling. “Don't worry, son. I'd look just like that too if I had to watch my brother kiss someone like that,” and he pats his arm in that frank way that older people do when they reach that age where they stop caring about other people's personal boundaries.</p><p>Like Auguste would know anything about boundaries.</p><p>“Right,” Auguste says, but when he turns the old man's gone and he's standing alone in the terminal, the wash of people returning home to their loved ones bending around him, distorted by him.  His gravity so fierce that nothing can escape.  Even Laurent--brilliant, blinding incandescent flashy gorgeous Laurent--would eventually be sucked up into it, crushed by it, made into some deformed and ugly thing because that was just what he did, just who he was.</p><p>"Auguste?" Laurent's voice, snapping him out of his thoughts.  Laurent's hand is in Damen's and for a moment Auguste wonders if he should warn him, should tell Damen to take Laurent and get out of here, get back on the plane and go somewhere safe where Auguste wouldn't be able to reach them, wouldn't be able to suck him into this crushing blackness he can already feel reaching out again for his brother's golden light.  Because he knows, now, with a certainty that hammers in his chest, that there would be no kiss if it was him coming out of the gate.  That part of them was a secret just as much as those marks on Laurent's skin, always covered up under layers of clothes, sometimes even scarves, only revealed in the privacy of their home.  And in that privacy Auguste was one thing, and in public he had to be, by necessity, something else.</p><p>And for the first time since they had started this Auguste thinks that maybe it's not enough.  He had never been good at secrets like this; the walls that held them in were too thin, and they always burst.</p><p>He looks up and meets Laurent's eyes, an entire conversation passing between them, and Auguste knows that Laurent had been able to tell what he had just been thinking as clearly as if he had said it out loud.  Laurent had always been unnaturally prescient, could always tell when Auguste was lying, could tell that Auguste had always wanted him.  Laurent had always known. </p><p>"Let's go home," he says, and his voice is so kind and gentle, so unlike Laurent, and Auguste is nearly torn apart by it.</p><p>But he turns, and follows them out as they head back to the car, to home.</p><p>He had always been helpless to say no to his brother. </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CW: Graphic sibling incest, really badly negotiated/unhealthy threesome dynamic (even barring the whole incest thing), jealousy (between Auguste and Lamen), Auguste is an unreliable narrator and thinks less than great things about himself, honestly it's just all kind of a whump for Auguste and ends in a not so great place for him.  I'm really sorry baby I still love you.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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